


As I Remember Your Eyes

by Anonymous



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Ambiguous Relationships, Flowers, Fluffy Ending, I'M VERY UNSURE SORRY, M/M, Outlawed magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8427751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Magic has been illegal almost since time began, but there's a man with sparkling eyes and a soft smile making Jihoon wonder if he cares about the law.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chickencrust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickencrust/gifts).



There’s a man who’s moved to town recently, some type of salesman of something or other—Jihoon can’t ever seem to recall what. His arrival was accompanied by a lively buzz, as all are in a town this tiny, but his is the first Jihoon has felt was truly deserving of such a buzz, though he can’t land a touch on why. It might be because his eyes shine in a way Jihoon’s never seen before, a way that ordinary people’s don’t. He hesitates to think it, but no other explanation seems to find its way to his mind.

Magic has been outlawed longer than anyone can remember, way back before even Jihoon’s grandparents were alive yet, and hardly anyone knows the exact reason anymore. All the majority knows is that it could potentially be very dangerous, and if they spot anyone using it, they ought to tell someone immediately; in larger cities, _someone_ probably refers to some sort of authority, but in a village as small as the one where Jihoon lives, _someone_ can be just about anyone for the information to hit everyone’s ears by nightfall. Which is why Jihoon is surprised he hasn’t heard any accusations of magic use about this man. He can’t be the only one who’s noticed his strange behavior.

Jisoo is the man’s name. Jihoon’s never spoken to him, but he needn’t do so to garner such readily available information. He heard it from six different neighbors over the course of two days, and after the third day, he finally laid eyes on him for the first time. He was a slender man, pretty and graceful, lips curving smoothly in a slanted smile that seemed ever-present on his face. There was something gentle and soothing about everything about him. The way his hair was styled in a nice curl to expose a smooth forehead, the way his voice sounded like a glass wind chime stirred by the faintest wind, the way his eyes sparkled like the night sky. Always sparkling, those eyes.

Something in his air gave the distinct impression that he could be trusted from the very beginning, and Jihoon thinks that might be why no accusations have cropped up by now. Even when he always wears a full suit but never seems to be busy. Even when he walks all the roads in town and never ends up anywhere. Even when he’s claimed to be a salesman but has yet to display any wares. Perhaps Jihoon just has more opportunity to assess these abnormalities because he lives across the street, but he’s sure if everyone knew how oddly he behaves, there would be buzz of a completely different variety surrounding him, even if he does seem to be the nicest man who’s ever stepped foot on their streets.

One day as Jihoon sweeps the sidewalk in front of the bakery where he’s employed, he sees something that he thinks confirms the internal suspicions he’s been trying to suppress. On the cobbled footpath just across the way, he sees Jisoo crouched down, speaking to a child with a gleeful grin on his face, eyes crinkled in its wake. The child giggles happily when Jisoo pats it on the head, and the giggle turns into a sound of awe when Jisoo points to a crack in the paving where a small daisy is beginning to wiggle its way into the sunlight.

The daisy is growing while he watches. It’s tiny and budding before Jihoon blinks, and once he’s reopened his eyes, it’s twice as tall, petals unfolding one by one from a pliant green stem. He keeps his eyes across the street as the child’s face contorts in wonder, air filling with the giddy ring of laughter, and watches as the child is scooped up by an approaching parent just as the daisy reaches full maturity. Jihoon doesn’t avert his gaze once as Jisoo stands to his full height and offers a sweet smile to the child’s mother, one that is returned without reservation, then waves the pair goodbye as they depart.

Daisies don’t grow this time of year. Jihoon knows this, and when he sees Jisoo bend down to pluck the flower from its crag and stuff it into his pocket, he’s sure Jisoo knows it as well. It goes without saying that they both know there’s no way for a flower to grow so quickly, either, right before one’s very eyes, and when Jisoo turns to leave, he catches Jihoon’s eyes on him and sends an enigmatic smile and a small wave. _Young children don’t know how much time it takes flowers to grow,_ he thinks as he watches Jisoo’s back shrink down the road. The sound of a bell cuts through the air behind him.

“Jihoon?” his boss calls gruffly from the doorway. “What are you doing out here? It doesn’t take that long to sweep.”

“Sorry, sir. I’m almost finished.” He wraps up the sweeping immediately to avoid further barking and hurries inside. When he leaves for home that evening, he makes sure to stop by the cracked stone on the other side of the street where the daisy had pushed through, but there’s no crack to be seen. Any trace of a blemish on the walkway is gone along with the flower that had grown in it.

Jihoon mulls it over for a few days, running all the possibilities through his head before he determines that it had to have been magic. Once he’s settled on this explanation, he decides to confront Jisoo about it directly rather than immediately confide in someone else; he’s never been much of a gossip, and he figures if he’s only guilty of something as harmless as making a flower grow, talking to Jisoo himself shouldn’t be too dangerous.

Knuckles rap impatiently against the door to the small wood-sided house for the third time, and Jihoon is starting to wonder if Jisoo is home at all even though the lights shining through the curtained windows indicate he is. He’s stopped by after the end of his shift at work, and the sun has just begun ducking behind low buildings for the evening, bathing the streets in muted orange. A chill breeze slivers by as he waits, prickling up his skin everywhere it touches, and it’s certainly far too cold for any daisies to be poking their heads out from the sidewalk.

When Jihoon is mere moments from abandoning his endeavor and trudging back across the street, the door swings open with barely a sound, bright lights flooding out to hit his eyes around the homeowner’s silhouette.

“Oh, Jihoon.” Jisoo’s voice is soft, and he looks soft as well, clad in a thick turtleneck rather than the crisp suit he’s typically seen wearing around town. His hair is unstyled, too, falling in soft-looking tufts around delicate features, and his eyes twinkle impossibly brightly in their characteristic way. “Good evening. I was wondering if you’d come to visit me.” Jihoon isn’t sure how to interpret the second sentence. His smile is full of warmth when he moves aside. “Would you like to come in?”

“No,” Jihoon says as brusquely as he can manage, though he’s distracted minutely by the feeling of warmth coming from within and the delightful aroma drifting to his nose. “I’m only here because I have a question to ask you.”

“Are you sure?” Jisoo asks glumly, lips falling into a pout. “That’s too bad. I just made dinner, and it’s way too much to eat on my own. I was hoping you might come in and share a meal with me.” Jihoon takes a few sniffs against his will, feet edging him just a bit closer to the doorway.

“Well,” he sighs, “I suppose if you really have made too much, I can help you finish it.”

“You’re a very kind man,” he hums as he ushers Jihoon in, pushing the door to a hushed close behind him.

The house is heated to such a cozy temperature that Jihoon fears he might fall asleep the moment he sits down, and the scent emanating from the kitchen draws his feet forward eagerly once he’s got his shoes shaken off, padding timidly over hardwood until he reaches the source. A basket filled to the brim with steaming biscuits and a simmering pot of hearty beef stew greet him when he crosses the threshold to the kitchen, and his mouth is very close to watering when he realizes that something seems a little unusual.

“This sure is a great deal of food,” he ponders aloud, turning to look Jisoo in his smiling face. “Were you expecting company?” _Were you expecting me_ , is what he almost asks, but he decides to curb any very pointed accusations until he’s at least eaten.

“Not quite,” Jisoo explains. There’s something a little somber creeping into his voice that Jihoon wants to ignore. “I always hope someone might stop by, so I make a lot, but most of it usually ends up as leftovers.” His eyes brighten. “So I’m really glad you came today! Here, take a seat and I’ll bring it to you.”

Guilt pools in Jihoon’s stomach when he comes to rest on the worn wooden chair, and it’s the only thing keeping him awake in the snug warmth the room is filled with. Adding the knowledge that Jisoo seems to be lonely despite how the whole population of the town appears enamored with him only makes it more difficult to confront him about using magic, and the way his face is overtaken by a grin when he sets a bowl of stew down in front of Jihoon on the table makes him not want to do it at all. But he has to, he tells himself. He needs to get to the bottom of it.

“So, what was it you needed to ask me?” Jisoo asks lightly, taking a sip from his drink. The ends of his sleeves obscure most of his fingers and make him look smaller than he actually is, vulnerable, fluffy.

“It was about, uh,” Jihoon struggles with the words now that he’s actually being forced to say them. “The weather.” He can’t do it. “It’s getting colder, so I wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.” Not with Jisoo looking at him like that with those shiny eyes. How is he supposed to just _ask_?

“The weather?” A smooth chuckle slides out from between his lips while his eyes crinkle a little more. “That’s very considerate of you,” he drawls, voice sugary, “but I’m just fine.” Jihoon shoves a spoonful of stew in his mouth, and it’s delicious. He almost groans. “Are you sure that’s what you wanted to ask?” Jihoon almost chokes on broth. He’s just as sharp as he looks, somehow sharper, and it’s unsettling.

“Well, no,” he admits with a sigh. “I actually wanted to talk to you about the daisy—”

“Oh, the daisy?” Jisoo looks excited. “Did you want it?” Each word bubbles over with enthusiasm, and he’s striding over to a small pot in which a single daisy stands before Jihoon even responds.

“Did I want it?” he echoes dumbly, following Jisoo with his eyes until he’s brought the little pot over and placed it on the table beside his bowl. The daisy stands resolute in its small basin of soil, staring back into Jihoon’s eyes with a perfectly yellow center.

“You can absolutely have it,” Jisoo assures him as he slides back into his chair. “Isn’t it pretty? I wanted that kid to have it, but they left so quickly.” His grin fades into tenderness, and Jihoon’s heart clutches inexplicably. “I’m glad I can give it to someone, though. I think it suits you.” Jihoon’s face is getting hot, but he’ll pretend for now that it’s just because he’s eating hot stew in a house that’s already too warm.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, lowering his gaze to his bowl of soup, where he keeps it until he’s finished eating. Jisoo peppers him with more questions, but he doesn’t remember what they are or how he answers them, only that Jisoo has a very relaxing voice that could lull him to sleep if he stopped being careful.

“Thank you,” he repeats as he leaves, “for the food and the daisy. Dinner was delicious.”

“Oh, of course,” Jisoo responds with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Take some biscuits with you, and feel free to come back any time.” His eyes shimmer when he says, “Enjoy your daisy.”

Jihoon almost sprints across the street and to his own front door, miniscule flower pot cradled in his cold hands. The sun has long since set, and he wishes he could find out where all the time went. It’s only when he turns on the light in the kitchen and sets the little daisy down on the windowsill that he realizes he forgot to ask what he was actually supposed to.

The next morning, he exits his house to find little clusters of daisies situated on either side of the steps leading down from his door, short and new, rustling in the breeze that’s too frigid to allow their presence. His eyes grow wide as he stares at them, and he’s starting to wonder if daisies are in season after all when he dashes back inside in a frenzy and finds not one but two daisies in his little clay pot, their stems loosely intertwined as they climb skyward. When he steps back outside to commence his walk to work, he tries to be as casual as possible, but his façade falls apart when his eye is caught by a pair of women across the street, muttering amongst themselves with their stares brazenly fixed on him. A core of lead sinks through his gut.

 _They think I made these_. He bends down as inconspicuously as possible and tears the flowers from the ground in a quiet panic. _They think I’m using magic._ He stuffs his pockets full of them and does what he can to brush the dirt off his pants before breaking into a brisk pace. _They’ll tell the whole town, and everyone will be after my head_. Once he’s made it to the bakery, he hastily pulls them out of his pockets and dumps them into the trash bin, making sure to wash his hands three times to rid them of the smell of plant.

He spots Jisoo when he’s on his way home today, taking slow strides alone down a road that Jihoon’s never been to the end of. Cautiously, quietly, he abandons his route and heads the same direction Jisoo’s going, switching to the other side of the street and trying not to arouse suspicion, heels hitting the pavement as softly as he can get them to. The distance between them grows more and more generous as they walk with Jihoon’s growing attempt to prevent Jisoo from noticing his presence, and once it’s become sizable enough for his tastes, Jihoon diligently keeps up pursuit until he sees Jisoo stop.

They’ve long strayed from well-traveled paths, instead on a pathetic little trail trampled into the dry grass. Trees rise around them, and while Jihoon’s lost sight of Jisoo for the most part, as he follows the path, it’s straightforward enough that he’s still able to find him at the end of it. There he sits in the middle of a small clearing, crouched low to the ground and hunched over a small patch of earth that brims with more color with each step Jihoon takes. As he nears, it becomes increasingly more obvious that flowers are growing far more rapidly than they ought to be, curling up around Jisoo’s shoes and even spreading further outside of his small circle of influence. Jihoon stops just short of the outer ridge of the budding flower patch with a heavy stomp that grabs Jisoo’s attention and stops a great many of the blooms halfway through their growth.

“Jihoon,” he whispers, eyes wide and sparkling as ever.

“I knew it,” Jihoon shoots more harshly than he intends. “You’re using magic.” He pokes a toe at the flimsy stems of the flowers at his feet, but he stops when Jisoo looks at them with worry. “You used magic to grow the daisy, too, didn’t you?” It’s useless to ask when he’s seeing it happen right in front of him, but there’s still something satisfying about seeing Jisoo nod hesitantly.

“Yes,” he admits softly, rising to his feet. A pause stretches for just a moment too long before he asks, “What happened to the, uh, the daisies outside your front door?” He sounds hurt, and it takes Jihoon a few moments to remember what he’s talking about.

“I ripped them up and threw them away,” he says plainly, and Jisoo looks like he might cry.

“Why?” His voice is aching, and it makes Jihoon’s chest hurt, but he pushes it down.

“What’s your game, Jisoo?” he bellows roughly. “Are you trying to get me run out of town? Did I do something to you?”

“What are you…” Lost is all his eyes appear to be, lost and lonely and drowning in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Everybody knows daisies don’t grow this time of year. They’ll think _I’m_ the one using magic.” He chews his own lip for a while when Jisoo doesn’t say anything. “They probably already think it.”

“I just thought you liked daisies.” Some of the half-formed stems brushing against Jihoon’s shoes wither back a little timidly, losing the vibrancy of their green. “I thought you would like having some more. I didn’t even think about that.” Jihoon levels his gaze coldly.

“Magic is illegal, Jisoo.” His eyes are hard and cold, and those staring back at him are so, so fragile. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I know that,” he says, a little more resolute. “But the land isn’t healthy here. The forest is dying, and so are the flowers. Somebody’s got to fix it.”

“It’s dying?” This is the first Jihoon’s heard of it, though it’s also the first he’s ever been here himself. The trees look perfectly healthy from where he stands, but maybe they aren’t. Maybe it’s Jisoo’s doing already that they even look as fine as they do now.

“Yes. The only reason I came here was to fix it.” He looks longingly at the trees, eyes reflecting back an uncanny amount of green. “It needs my help, Jihoon. Please don’t get me thrown in jail.” His eyes come back to Jihoon’s pleadingly. “For the sake of the forest, please don’t.”

“How do you know it’s dying?” Jihoon asks skeptically. “Can you prove it?”

“I can’t,” he concedes. “But I _know_ that it is.” A fist comes to rest over the center of his chest, knuckles pressed intently against his white dress shirt. “I can feel it.” They stare at each other wordlessly after that, clouds high above seeming to weigh down on Jihoon’s shoulders from thousands of feet above. Silence rings through the air as Jihoon tries to collect his thoughts into words, stretching on for eons.

“So you’re not a salesman,” is all he finds himself able to say. Jisoo shrugs halfheartedly.

“Not quite.” With a heavy gaze fixed at Jihoon’s feet, the flowers there start to grow until they’ve taken full form, lovely red tulips that sway in the breeze. “Sometimes I sell flowers when it’s a good time for it.”

“Florists don’t usually wear business suits.”

“And why can’t they?” he huffs, crossing his arms. “What I’m doing here is just as important as what any CEO is doing.” Jihoon takes a tour of the scene with his eyes and thinks he might be right.

“You really think you can fix it?”

“I know I can as long as you don’t stop me.” Jihoon ponders it for a moment. The law, the law. Who cares about such useless laws anyway?

“I won’t stop you, then.” Jisoo smiles at that, broad and genuine, and crosses through his little meadow to come face-to-face with Jihoon. He lets his hand fall on Jihoon’s shoulder gently, and Jihoon can feel the petals of what he thinks must be daisies tickling his ankles.

“You’re a very kind man,” he tells Jihoon for the second time. “Would you be kind enough to join me for dinner again?” Jihoon isn’t sure why he feels compelled to say yes.

Jisoo’s house is warm again today. They arrive just as the sunset starts painting the siding with its characteristic hues, bringing a chill draft with it, and Jihoon is delighted when he follows Jisoo through the door and is greeted with the same comfortable heat as the previous evening. This time, there’s no fragrance wafting from the kitchen, but Jihoon heads into it anyway. Before long, Jisoo has set about making dinner, and savory aromas fill the air in no time.

Jihoon thinks to offer his assistance, but soon he notes that half of Jisoo’s workload is taken from him by spoons that seem to stir on their own, knives that chop without a hand to guide them, vegetables that roll their own paths onto the cutting board and leap from there to the pot once they’ve been diced. Jisoo doesn’t do much aside from fiddle with the settings on the oven and eye everything to spot when it’s done. In his periphery, he spots Jihoon gazing in awe, jaw slack and eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” he says with a slight grin, perplexed and wary. “Does this bother you?” He gestures at the wooden spoon moving in lazy circles around the pot unaided. Jihoon shakes his head slowly, tearing his eyes from the end of the spoon to look into Jisoo’s. They’re sparkling and beautiful as always.

“No,” he mutters. “Do you always cook like this?”

“Usually, yes, if I want to save time.”

“Aren’t you worried someone might see you through the window?”

“I have curtains.” He quirks an eyebrow when Jihoon doesn’t seem satisfied. “Are _you_ worried someone might see?”

“People here are very nosy,” comes his response, “and I wouldn’t trust most of them to keep your secret like I will. You should be more careful.”

“That’s very considerate of you.” Jihoon’s head is spinning in circles; he feels like Jisoo is running through all the same phrases, but none of them sound the same or have the same meaning, all in that glittering voice that ripples like moonlight on the tides, like the stars in his eyes. “What do you propose I do instead, then? Will you help me cook?”

“I will,” Jihoon says without hesitation. “I’ll help you cook.” A hushed chuckle dusts over his ears and heats his face up. He watches Jisoo’s blazer rip itself wider at the seams, puff its fibers up until it’s a cream-colored sweater, watches his crisp black slacks fade into worn denim. The impossible is happening on earth under battered gray shingles.

“You know, that means you’ll be roped into eating dinner with me every night.” He grabs hold of the spoon himself, stirring the contents of the pot by hand this time. Jihoon doesn’t know what he’s making, but it smells incredible. “Are you sure you’re willing to deal with that?”

“I guess I’ll just have to endure it.” Jisoo laughs out loud at that, nearly letting the spoon slip from his fingers. Jihoon clears his throat and takes a few steps closer to watch bubbles dance at the edge of the pot from behind the counter. “Thank you for the daisies, by the way, even though I ripped them up and threw them away.” Jisoo hums.

“I can give you more, if you want,” he says. “Somewhere beside your doorstep, where only you can see them.”

“You would really give me more?” As he asks, the tiny stem of an infant daisy pushes through the woodgrain, impossibly and undeniably, inching toward the ceiling and unfolding its little white petals. Jihoon extends a tentative hand to touch it, and it curls around his finger as if in greeting.

“You like them, don’t you?”

“I do,” Jihoon admits quietly, thumbing the soft petals at his knuckle. “They’re pretty.”

Jisoo takes the pot off the heat and turns around to face Jihoon, leaning forward across the counter. His smile is wide and gleaming, and his eyes are deep and dark and swirling, shining with a sea of stars; the longer Jihoon looks, the more they start to look like flowers. Jisoo presses his fingertip to the countertop right beside Jihoon’s, and a whole new cluster of daisies begins sprouting from the wood. His voice is warmer than warmth when he speaks again. “Then I’ll give you as many as you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> WOOOW here this is!! i had a lot of fun writing it even though it's my first time writing 2ji, and i sincerely hope you all enjoyed! (especially chickencrust, for whom this is a gift! thank you for the very sweet prompt!!)  
> thanks very much for reading!


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